


The wolf in Priwen clothing

by EbonyMortisRose



Series: The story of Aubrey Jones [2]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, Mention of OC Aubrey Jones, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The night after McCullum mesmerizes Aubrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyMortisRose/pseuds/EbonyMortisRose
Summary: This story takes place the night after 'Shattered Masks.' where McCullum is starting to realise to be any use to his men he can't carry on with the masquerade of humanity anymore.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: The story of Aubrey Jones [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836406
Kudos: 19





	The wolf in Priwen clothing

He sat on a stool in O'Neal's pub, the unofficial drinking spot of the Guard of Priwen. It was one of those rare nights, when the weather was so bad outside even hells minions had decided to take the night off. On these nights they could congregate, count their blessings, and recant tales of foolish bravery and drink to those they had lost.

Someone had taken up a fiddle, playing a merry tune that was well needed to lift spirits in these dark times. This was soon followed by drum. A rhythmic familiar beat that was strangely alluring, he couldn't help tapping out the beat on the bar top. 

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump_.

He was suddenly so thirsty.

A glass of Whiskey was then slammed down in front of him, shocking him out of his trance. He looked up into the face of a man, that was covered in a network of scars. The result of surviving a shelling in the trenches, he was one of the lucky ones, and he knew this man. Patrick. Patrick Riley. that was it.

_Thump,thump. Thump,thump._

But something wasn't right, he couldn't focus. The beat of that drum was no longer enticing, but becoming irritating.

In the warm glow of the pub's lamps he tries to focus on the man's face again. Apart from the obvious scaring something else wasn't right, something about his eyes, flat, dull. He had a growing sense of dread for no reason crawling up his spine, that same feeling like someone had just walked over his grave.

The pub should have been warm, even overly so. This many bodies crammed into a small room should have been giving the air a humid sticky feel. But he suddenly felt cold, no, not cold numb, something wasn't right.

''Drink up McCullum, you look thirsty."

He smiles, shaking off his growing anxiety and looks around to see his fellow guardsmen enjoying themselves, and goes to grab the glass. He notices Its contents are dark and red, thick like molasses.  
He looks at his hand grasping the glass and notices the ruddy tanned complexion he had acquired from years of working outdoors had gone. Replaced by pale flesh, like a corpse.

'' Aren't you thirsty boss? I'm sure there's something here you want?" The man's voice had taken on a darker tone.

He looks up at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, realising all sounds had suddenly ceased. No, not all sounds, there was still that incessant drum beat.

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

The room behind him was now empty except for a handful of his men. His lads. His family.  
But each of them now showed a reflected horror of torn out throats, tattered flesh, and gaping bloody wounds. He remembered then, they were all dead.

Green rookies torn apart by rabid skals. Veterans blindly following his orders into leech-infested lairs, never to return. In each case, he could have saved them. Used his new strength, his supernatural abilities. But in doing so he would have been discovered as a leech. He might as well have torn out their throats himself.

He reaches up a hand to his face and it feels clammy like dead flesh and squints into the mirror noticing he has a cut running the length of his forehead. Out of morbid curiosity, he can't stop himself probing his fingers along the wound. His nails slip under the lip, sliding into the gap. There's no pain as he pulls, and watches in horror as the living mask of Geoffrey McCullum is torn away to reveal, his corpse-like countenance.

He now has pale skin, sallow sunken cheeks. Gone are the glistening healthy blue eyes, now replaced with the cold dead stare of a killer. The beast then snarls, revealing long bloody fangs.

The flesh mask he still has gripped in his hand then begins to whisper.

 _"You can't hide from the guard!"_ Throwing his own words back at him he had yelled at the leech Dr.Reid.

He cries out, throwing the wretched thing away. He then spins in his seat with such force he falls forward on to his knees, on top of his mother on the hardwood floor.  
His hands plant either side of her head. Her torn out throat inches from his face. Dead glassy eyes stare off towards on open moonlit window. He raises his head and can feel something warm run down his chin.

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

Then the bedroom door creaks slowly open. There's a boy there wiping the last of the sleep from his eyes. Who on seeing him stops, frozen with a look of abject terror across his face.

"ma?"

No, not just any boy, It's him. No! He didn't do this it was his father!  
He sees movement out of the corner of his eye as his dead mothers head cracks round to stare up at him and in Gaelic, she mutters.  
  
_'' My, what big teeth you have, my little wolf in sheep's clothing. Like father like son!''_

_"NO!!"_

_"_ Geoffrey _"_

He cries out, trying to push himself off her but he can't move his arms are locked at his sides. He has to get away.

"Geoffrey!"

He looks down to see what is restricting his movement and sees strong bare arms wrapped around his torso. He then realises he sat in a bed. A single wire framed bed, barely big enough to hold both he and Jonathan. The person who was behind him now, hugging him. No, not a person, a leech.

He snarls, shrugging off the doctor's grip and jumps out of bed, running a hand over his face and through his short brown hair. If he were alive he would be drenched in sweat. If he were alive he would be breathing heavy, feeling his heart racing trying to break out of his chest. But he's not alive, he's dead. No breath leaves his lungs, his heart only beats to the rhythm of the lives he is forced to consume every night. He doesn't even feel the cold of the room against his naked flesh. But he still dreams, how could he rest in peace with their blood on his hands?

"Do you want to talk about it?" The leeches deep baritone tone voice is filled with concern, and through their bond, he can feel his maker truly wants to help.

He begins to pace about the doctor's office, opening up his senses to the evening sounds beyond the dark room they had spent the day in. And there, in the distance was that haunting siren drumbeat from his nightmare.

He grabs his pants from a nearby chair and begins to get dressed grinding his teeth. Still feeling the damn leeches eyes boring with worry into his back. Finally, he can't take anymore and he spins pointing an accusatory finger at him in the blackness.

"I'm not a monster! I'm not like mi father! I'm nothing like you _leech_!"

His words are swallowed by the blackness that surrounds them. The silence that follows is so absolute he can hear muffled conversations on the wards far below them. He might as well have drawn his sword and ran the doctor through the heart. Because that was the pain, the hurt he was feeling, radiating off the man still sat on the bed.

He couldn't say he was sorry, it would be meaningless because he wasn't. He couldn't hide his true feelings from him, that was the curse of this bond between them.

He didn't have that same problem with his men. Even after everything he had taught them on how to spot a leech, they had failed to spot the wolf in their midst. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would be found out. Not taking day shifts, not eating around them, not drinking to lost ones at the pub. Lost ones he should have saved.

What they, he did to that rookie Jones was wrong. But it made him realise he had been kidding himself, he couldn't carry on like this. He had to make a choice, continue to be a hunter or become the hunted.

**Author's Note:**

> What became of poor Aubrey Jones after he saw behind McCullums mask. Did they succeed in wiping his mind of what he saw? Or broke him completely and hes now a jibbering wreck in Bedlam? I may do another piece from his point of view. well, see how i feel.


End file.
